Myra
by maddelei
Summary: Myra is motherless, promised in marriage by her horrible father to a man she hates, and her salvation comes in the form of Edward. But who is Edward? Might get a bit spicey in chap. 11 a warning.
1. Myra

She decided that it was that particular noise she hated the most. Quill scratching on paper and at that very moment, it was flooding the room and infesting her ears. Scratch, scratch, scratch. If it doesn't end soon, Myra thought, I think I might go insane. As if on cue, the scratching stopped and she turned to look at the writer, her father. "Now, Myra," he began, taking his pipe out of his breast-pocket, "I want you to deliver this to Mr. Ellind and if you're nice to him, why, I'm sure he will be most likely to look upon you with a favourable eye." He flashed a yellow-toothed grin in her direction and stuffed a ball of the Mena weed into his pipe. Myra noted with distaste as he slid the letter toward her, that his finger nails were the same sickly jaundice colour as his teeth.  
  
Disgusted, she took the letter just as his free hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. "And if word gets back to me that you are not ,shall we say, agreeable and accommodating, you will live to regret it!" he hissed and he released her hand where two bruised had started to flourish.  
  
Rubbing her wrist, Myra backed out of the room and started down the hallway. This wasn't the first time her father, the once rich and formidable Mr. Vetner, had tried to use her to further his floundering career. A year back, he had promised her to a man whose name she had gladly forgotten, as a 'bed partner' but only on the proviso that he would agree to his business proposition. Yet that all ended badly when she slapped the man as he was fumbling with her gown ties. Her father beat her to with in an inch of her life and she had suffered from welts, bruises and two cracked ribs for three very long and painful months. Myra had since learned to become accommodating.  
  
Out on the street now, Myra's dress and tunic flapped about her as she made her way through the bustling crowd. Another deal, another degrading act, she thought sourly, what is it this time? Perhaps it may just be a few leering looks from him and some batting of the eye lashes from me? Or is it urgent and fumbling hands? Longing for an escape, Myra knocked on Mr. Ellind's door and a few moments later, it was opened by a man who Myra thought was possibly one of the ugliest men she had ever laid eyes upon. He was possibly in his mid thirties but his ugliness was a hindrance in calculating his exact age. He was also one of those unfortunate men whose face was permanently red and was decorated with severe pock marks. Adding to his misfortune was his hair that was so blonde that it would have seemed to be invisible if it weren't for his frightful complexion. He smiled and it wasn't in the least bit becoming.  
  
"Well now, what do we have here?" he leered. Oh mercy! Myra thought, he is leering. "My name is Myra of Vetner," she replied. "Myra, eh? Well I guess you have some thing for me then?" Myra handed him the letter and as she did so she unwittingly took a step forward inside the door. "Oh no, love, I mean something else," he whispered and slammed the door behind her, the bang disturbing the intense quiet of inside.  
  
A dozen thoughts raced through her mind. She wanted to run, she wanted to cry and even her home seemed like a safe haven but she knew that leaving would mean a repeat of last year's beating.  
She took a deep breath. "My- my father urges that you read the letter," she croaked. He wasn't listening but he was, however, looking upon her appreciatively. "Mr. Ellind." she began. "No, please, call me Mitri," he said huskily and she felt and smelled his foul, warm breath as it washed over her face. "Mist.Mitri, My f-father urges..." she stopped as he lifted a hand and touched her wavy, auburn hair. "Oh mercy!" she sobbed but he pretended he didn't hear her as grabbed her breast and ground his lips into hers and tears rolled down her cheeks as he pressed her up against the wall. 


	2. Edward

Wow, it is kind of funny what inspires you to write and in this case it is my boyfriend who just broke his leg in soccer. Poor lad.  
  
Chapter Two - Edward.  
  
Myra was subjected to Mitri's painful caresses a dozen times more in the months that followed the first encounter. Though each time was less painful than the previous fumble, her fury and resentment grew, silently, cancer- like emotions dug their deathly fingers in.  
  
Her father became increasingly abusive but only verbally. He dared not lay a hand on her lest 'Mitri' might not want bruised goods and besides every thing was turning out fine for him. He had wealth from trading in textiles from Frell (Mitri had contacts.) and he had acquired himself a maid who also served as his bedfellow. Her name was April and every now and then she sported a new black eye or had her wrist strapped. Myra prayed that she would have sense enough to leave, unlike herself.  
  
There was a time, when I was young and innocent and now my body is wracked with hateful knowledge and loathsome experience. At 16, I am no longer the child I once was, forced to grow up before my time, Myra silently told herself. She longed for the day when this would all be a bad nightmare or hopefully one day she might not even remember her childhood. This pain will be a phantom so if I do remember I might not be sure if it was real or just a figment of my imagination.  
  
"MYRA!!!" he father bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. "GET DOWN HERE NOW!" Myra sighed and rolled of her hard mattress bed and made her way down the wooden stairs bare foot. The one thing good to come of this 'relationship' with Mitri was her father's abstinence of violence. Unfortunately, Myra suspected he vented it out on April.  
  
She entered the Formal Lounge to find her father and Mr. Ellind both smoking Mena weed and another man she had not previously met and whose wide girth must have been very uncomfortable... "Ahh, here she is sirs. Myra, dear, these are the Misters Ellind. Of course you already know Mitri Ellind but this is his father Mr. Lukas Ellind." Myra vaguely wondered how they could be father and son when Mitri was as skinny as a rake and why was her father smiling so much? Her father picked up her hand and patted it. "Ahh Myra, you are so beautiful, just like your mother and you belong to go to a man who will do you justice to your beauty. That is why the good lad Mitri here as offered to take your hand in marriage."  
  
Myra swayed on her feet. Marriage? Oh mercy! This can't be happening, no please! "I told you she would be so delighted that she is speechless!" he father beamed at his guests but his hand tightened on hers and his fingertips turned white with the pressure. "Yes..delighted." she murmured and Mitri beamed. His father walked over to her and said "Please, consider me your other father!" and hugged her in his giant arms and her face was smothered by his sweaty neck. Then Mitri stepped up to her and instead of hugging her, kissed her on her mouth. "Finally! After twenty-five years he has finally found a girl he likes or a girl that can stand looking at him!" Myra briefly felt pity for him from the hurt look on his face but then it vanished as she remembered the past three months.  
  
********************* Cierwan slowed his horse down to a trot and surveyed the land before him. He was looking for the Key and the Mirror Pool clearly showed to him the town in where the Key was, Kyrria, and Kyrria was before him now. He had no idea as to who the key was or even what the key was but he knew what ever it was, it was here, he thought to himself as he patted his leather bag containing the sacred bowl he used for the Mirror Pool. Not wanting to bring suspicion upon himself, he created an illusion to make himself look like an old peasant. He was a master of Disguise.  
  
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Myra peered at her reflection in the looking glass. She had never seen her reflection before and was stunned to see that she was indeed, beautiful. She wasn't obviously beautiful but she had the sort of beauty that would slowly dawn upon you. She had wavy, auburn hair and bright green eyes that shone and well-crafted cheek bones and a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her delicate features were enhanced by the white silk gown she was wearing. It was the finest piece of clothing she'd ever had and yet, it was one she wasn't looking forward to wearing. It was her wedding dress. Or, her doom dress as she liked to call it. I have to spend an eternity with that monstrosity, she thought glumly, Oh well. At least I shall never have to suffer my father again.  
  
"Oh, now! Myra, darling! Don't you look wonderful?" the dress maker, Fionulla, asked her. Myra just shrugged and Fionulla tutted. "Hop out of it now. We don't want to get it ruined do we?"  
  
Myra slipped out of the dress and back in to her old gown and tunic. Her dress was once blue but had gone grey with time and she'd had it since her thirteenth birthday. Mitri had bought her several dresses but she refused to wear them which he was slightly miffed about.  
  
Myra left Fionulla's and made her way toward the bustling market square. She was supposed to pick up ribbons for her hair for her wedding and she regretted spending any money on something that meant very little to her or to Mitri. He, of course, only wanted to marry her because of her beauty and so that he had a bed companion every night and not just a few times a week! She remembered the fateful day when she became engaged to him. His father said he was only twenty five yet he looked so much older. Myra stopped at a bread stall and bought a sweet roll. Sweet rolls were her favourite and just as she turned to leave, she bumped into a dark man, dropping her roll. "Sorry," she muttered and bent to pick up her roll. "Oh, no. I'm sorry. Please, let me buy you another one," the man apologised. Myra looked up into his face, his dark hair brushing over his forehead and his blue eyes looking at her, apologetic, and his slightly crooked nose crinkled up in worry. Myra blushed as she thought she'd never seen a man so handsome before. "Uhm." she began, "ok..why not?" And his features relaxed making him eve more handsome.  
  
As he bought her another, he asked her to lunch with him. "What is your name?" he inquired. "Myra of Vetner and you?" she replied not saying 'of Ellind'. "Myra," he sighed "a nice name. I am Edward." He bought a loaf of bread and chicken meat and they lunched on a side of a hill. It's strange that I should think that I would like to marry this man I hardly know more than Mitri, Myra thought. It began to grow dark and Myra started excusing herself when he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. She had never experience a kiss like this before. All of her previous kisses had either been painful or disgusting yet this gentle and nice. He pulled away. "Sorry," he said, "I wanted too. Don't get me wrong, I don't do that to everyone, it's just that, well.it's just ...that." and Myra, once again, blushed, mumbled her goodbye and hurried off towards her home.  
  
An hour after she had been home, Mitri returned home. Ever since her engagement she had been forced to move into Mitri's house. He was cold and disgusting and for that she thanked him because it would mean that one day she might have the courage to leave him. She flinched every time he came near and every time he touched her. He kissed her once, not noticing that she had stiffened. "My beloved Myra, you must go and make the spare room ready for a visitor. I have this new acquaintance," Myra shuddered. Every time she heard that word before now, it always meant she had to be 'accommodating'. "And he will be staying with us. Now that you are to be my wife, you must be good, kind and courteous because what ever you do will reflect upon me. Do you understand?" She nodded and Mitri rushed to open the door and in walked a man with dark features and the most vivid blue eyes. His nose looked like it had been broken but that was the only thing not perfect about his face. He was, in a word, beautiful. "Myra dear, this is Mr. Milne," Mitri introduced him as. Edward smiled and his eyes shone with amusement.  
  
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	3. Cierwan

Chapter 2 - Cierwan. Yawp. I love that name. I am sorry Isobelle Carmody.  
  
"Mitri, you never told me your wife was so beautiful!" Edward said over dinner. Myra blushed again, for the third time in his presence, and a flicker of jealousy passed over Mitri's face but was gone as soon as it had come. "Well," Mitri started, and then shoved a piece of food in his mouth, "it's really the only thing she's good for! And she's not my wife, yet." He said laughing. Edward's eyes flitted over to Myra and said shaking his head and laughing "Oh now! I am sure she is good at something, Myra?" He had said her name so casually but she felt a slight thrill at the way he pronounced it. She shook her head and both men laughed. She felt some one butt her knee and hoped that it would be Edward but as she looked down she saw that it was Mitri and he had that look in his eye.  
  
As she was preparing to get ready for bed in the bathroom down the corridor, Edward came in. "Myra," he whispered, "I just want to apologise for this afternoon. If I had known you were to be." "Shhh," she cut him off, "You gave me something I would never have had with Mitri. For Mercy's Sake! I hate the man!" She stopped, realizing she had told this man she doesn't even know something nobody knows. He grinned. "MYRA! COME TO BE-EEEED!" Mitri sang out and she shuddered. "Mitri," she hissed, "you might wake our guest!" Edward grinned even further and departed. Sighing, she made her way to the master bedroom.  
  
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Myra left her house and with a quick glance backwards stepped into the dark alley three houses down. It was midnight and well past the town's curfew. She shivered and pulled her shawl about her tighter. "Hello?" she whispered. "Are you Myra?" An old woman's voice croaked. Myra nodded then realised it was dark and who ever it was probably could not even see her. "Yes," she whispered, "Do you have what I asked for?" There was a soft cackle. "Of course, dearie, have you got the money?" The old woman stepped forward into the only light coming from a street lamp. Myra thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out three KJ's. "Very well then, are you sure you want to go through with this?" "Yes. I'm sure." "A child is a precious gift, my girl, are you sure you want to cast it out?" The old woman held out a glass bottle filled with a brown-coloured liquid. "Of course I am sure otherwise I wouldn't be here. It's the best for the both of us. I will have plenty more opportunities to be with child, but right now is not the time. We will only be miserable! That is to say, the child and myself. Nobody deserves to be raised in a loveless home! " The old woman nodded her head knowingly and said "Very well, have it your way. Take this as soon as you get home and dispose of the bottle." Myra did not need to be told that but she gave the woman the KJ's, mumbled her thanks and left.  
  
Back home, Myra sat at the kitchen table, her back to the door, and silently regarded the little, glass bottle. It was a plain, rectangular bottle with a cork stopper, not the sort to inspire romantic visions of a girl casting out the child of her ugly and cruel husband and a beautiful man to rescue her in case anything went wrong. say poisoning. Myra uncorked the bottle and swilled down the contents in one gulp. Oh this is putrid! Myra thought and threw the bottle in the bin. "Myra, what are you doing down here in this time of the night?" Myra turned to see Mitri standing in the door way with an accusatory look on his face. Does he know? Oh Mercy, if he knows..... "I was just getting a drink, I have a sore throat, you know?" His face creased up into a hideous smile. "Well, if that's all, hurry and come back to bed, will you? Your wifely duties have yet to be filled." And with that he left. "I'm not your wife yet," Myra mumbled.  
  
**************************** Cierwan pushed his way through the bustling crowd, ignoring the dirty looks and silent curses he received in man handling people. He had something very important to do and he wasn't about to let the ignorant peasantry stop him. He did not dislike the peasants; it's just that they were naïve about important matters, which was the whole idea. If they knew what was really going on behind the palace gates, there would be trouble. These people loved their monarchical family and as with most people, did not like to see those they love be betrayed.  
  
He had been ordered to stake out the palace and if possible, get inside, to understand the lay out of the rooms and the positions of the guards on duty. This order was essential. If he failed to be hired in the palace, with which he would surely get to know the palace like the back of his hand, then he would need this knowledge to help him to succeed in his task.  
  
He arrived at the palace gates and peered inside, placing both hands on the gate railings. "Oi! You! Get your filthy peasant hands off the royal gate!" a guard bellowed. Cierwan smirked and departed he had resumed his peasant disguise. If they knew who he really was, he was sure that they would treat him with the utmost respect.  
  
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Prince Charmont looked out from his window to see a guard ordering a peasant man away. Sometimes he wondered if he could ever teach people that the peasants should be treated equally too. He turned and saw his father, King Jerric, discussing matters of state with his advisor, the young Lord Aganet, a man with dark features and a heavy set brow, who grimaced at something the King had said. "My liege, I strongly suggest postponing Prince Charmont's trip to Ayortha. We do not yet know if the Ayorthians are still friendly." " Still, of course they are, Aganet, the last letter I received from Ayortha assured me that everything was fine."  
  
"But that's just what they want you to think. Your highness, please, I beg of you, this could be a trap!"  
  
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Cierwan sipped on his wine and regarded the array of multi coloured doublets. He was, of course, inconspicuous as ever, but this time he was disguised as a foreign noble man and in a sense, he was. He was foreign, and he was a noble man of sorts.  
  
He slowly crept his way around the dandy-crowded room, till he came to find the man he was looking for. Count Luxenham. The man who was charged with the hiring of the court's clerks. "Good evening, Count Luxenham. My name is Sir Sergio de Vorsee and I come from Itchinka, a little known country, and I was wondering if you could take some time out of your busy schedule to talk to me. I believe I may be of good use in the court." Cierwan smiled. Too easy, these Kyrrians don't know anything about security.  
  
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In this chapter where Mitri says "And she's not my wife yet," always reminds me of in 4 weddings and a funeral where the scene goes: Hugh: So how is you girlfriend blah? Man: Ahh she's no longer my girlfriend.  
  
Hugh: Ahh well. A shame. Rumour has it she never stopped bonking old Toby de lar (that's what it sounds like) just in case it didn't work out. Man: She's now my wife. 


	4. Discovery

Chapter 3 - Discovery!! Arrgh! This be a shorty but only because it deserves to be by itself. And thanks to all those who reviewed. Taa very much.  
  
The following morning, Mitri's face paled as he found the glass bottle in the bin. This particular type of bottle, rather plain in form, was only used nowadays by the notorious apothecary Leeto. He slowly turned and regarded Myra, his future wife, with a look of utter contempt. "What is this?" he hissed through clenched teeth. He saw Myra pale and her eyes become as wide as saucers, full of fear, and this gave him a feeling of glee. "It's for my stomach cramps, I." she faltered as he stared angrily at her. "Stomach cramps, eh?" he screamed, "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" He threw the bottle at the wall above her head, raining tiny shards of glass on to her head. Myra whimpered. "LAST TIME I COUNTED YOU WERE TWO WEEKS GONE WITH CHILD! YOU'VE MURDERED MY SON!!"  
  
"NO! No, it's not like that! Please, that was a false alarm. please!" Mitri descended upon her and rasing his skinny hand he thwacked her across her cheek. "You dirty whore! You fucking harlot! How dare you!!" She gingerly touched her face and Mitri saw two slow trickles of blood coming from her mouth and nose. "No, please, it was a false alarm. I wasn't pregnant. The medicine was for my stomach cramps!" Mitri raised his hand again and then stopped. "I want you out of this house again and I NEVER want to see you again."  
  
"PLEASE!" Myra screamed, "Believe me!"  
  
Mitri glared at her and left the house, slamming the door after him.  
  
Edward moved out of the shadows, where he had been hiding, unbeknownst to both Mitri and Myra. He carefully picked Myra up and held her in his arms. "So what happens now?" she cried "I have no where to go." Edward shushed her and rocked her back and forth. "Let it all out Myra. Let it all out." And so Myra did, she cried and cried till there was nothing left. 


	5. Freedom

Chapter Five – Freedom. 

Edward replaced his moneybag around his waist. He turned and regarded Myra who had a large bruise surfacing on her cheek and her lip was puffed up and bloody. "He must have hit you pretty hard to cut your lip like that," Edward observed. Myra touched her lip and grimaced. "No, it was from his ring." Edward moved to the basin in the hotel room he had hired out for her, and wet the corner of a towel. Returning, he sat next to her and started to gently wipe away the dried blood. "Ouch" Myra winced, clutching at her skirts, "that really hurts."    
  
When there was no blood left, he removed a packet of brown powder from his bag and spooned out a teaspoon of the substance into a clay bowl. He mixed in some water and formed a paste which he lightly painted on to her cuts. "It heals the wounds and prevents infection," he told her. Myra picked up his hands and whispered "Thank you, thank you. If you hadn't of been there I don't know what I would have done." She leant up and kissed his cheek but winced as she did so. Edward, for the first time, felt a pinkness growing in his cheeks. "Well, hum, that's all part of being a gentleman, but sadly now I must go, as I have business to attend to that is rather urgent." And with that he departed leaving Myra sitting on her bed, hopelessly bored.

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Cierwan entered the courtyard at a run. "My apologies," he panted to Count Luxenham, "for being so late! There were a few emergencies at home. My wife, she had tripped and hurt herself, and I was seeing to her." Count Luxenham smiled. "Ahh, the trials of having a wife. So glad I never married. What is her name?" Cierwan dropped his bag, "Oops," he muttered, "I am a bit careless today." He bent down and picked up his belongings that had escaped his bag. He stood up and straightened his royal-blue doublet. "Shall we go in?" he asked.

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4 weeks later……  
Myra gingerly opened her eyes and was surprised to see that the girl standing in front of her beared no scars to the incident of a month ago. She touched her face and stepped closer to the mirror and scrutinized her reflection. "Not a trace," Edward smiled. Myra laughed delightedly, "Not at all," she replied, "It's simply amazing." Edward held out his arm to her, "And now, my dear," he started in a toffy voice, "it is time we should be going out for dinner as it is someone's birthday." Myra's eyes widened in surprise, "How did you know that?" she squealed. Edward winked. "I have my sources."   
  


At dinner, Myra felt slightly out of place among the more refined people of society. She had dressed in her finest, well the finest of her clothes she had managed to take from Mitri's house, and yet she still felt like these people were staring at her. She squeezed Edward's hand and whispered to him, "I feel like these people are all staring at me." 

"They are," he replied, "but only because you are incredibly ravishing." Myra laughed, trying to shake off her embarrassment and her growing feelings for this man. 

            Ever since he kissed her that day, Myra had nurtured a crush for Edward but over the past month, as he nursed her and cared for her, she knew that the simple crush had blossomed into something more, and that scared her. For if she loved him and told him so, she was afraid he would not return her feelings. _Best to forget these feelings, she told herself, __they will only create more pain. "Myra?" The sound of Edward's voice brought her back to reality. "I'm sorry. I was day dreaming," she apologised, not saying that she had been day dreaming about him. Edward smiled, "I was just asking if you would like to try the caramel éclair for desert. It is a speciality from my homeland." Myra frowned. "Where is your homeland, Edward?" _

"Ayortha," he said simply. Myra frowned. "You talk an awful lot for an Ayorthian."

Edward laughed and said, "I maybe from Ayortha but I am only half Ayorthian. My mother is from Frell. She dazzled my father with her wonderful way with words; you see she was a poetess." 

"How romantic," Myra breathed and she imagined for a second, that she saw a flicker of pain pass over Edward's face.

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Cierwan stepped out of the palace gates and gave the guard, who had yelled at him when he was disguised as a peasant, a disdainful look, which would only be taken as normal nobility behaviour by the guard. Two weeks ago, he had successfully bargained his way into the palace court as an ambassador to a country nobody had heard of, and rightly so, for it did not exist, but they didn't know that. He was able to read the minds of the many nobles to discover information needed in his quests, though he didn't do this often, it was another quick energy user.  
            Cierwan made his way toward the market square planning on buying new sets of clothes, both male and female, for his disguises. Disguising himself as a female was the hardest to do, for the body shapes were so different, it took a lot of energy for it to appear believable and for it to be maintained for a steady amount of time.  Therefore, he rarely became female and if he found the Key, he needn't become female, for the Mirror Pool had recently shown him that she was female.

            He looked at several stalls, examining the finery and had decided upon silk, scarlet dress with black leaf embroidery around the edges for the Key when a hand grabbed his wrist, but not unfriendly. "Edward!" He heard a voice exclaim and as he turned around he saw a young woman with wavy, auburn hair regarding him questioningly. "Myra," he whispered. "What are you doing here?" she asked and Cierwan was at a loss for words as he looked unseeingly into Myra's green eyes thinking of the Key and he thought that for a second he could see a golden key reflecting in her eyes. He shook his head and said, "Myra, we need to talk," and led her away to the hotel. 

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"What is it?" Myra asked, "Is it Mitri? Is he looking for me?" Her voice went up an octave or two with panic, thinking of Mitri looking for her. Cierwan sadly shook his head and sat down next to her; he took her hand in his own and started talking. "Myra, my name is not Edward. I am known as Cierwan the Seer, in my homeland, Ayortha. I have been charged with two very important missions and that is all I can tell you. I am sorry for lying to you Myra; I didn't want to hurt you. I still want to be your friend, if you will allow me." He watched her as her emotions passed over her face. He could tell she was trying to cover them up but her eyes betrayed her, showing the pain she was feeling and the love she felt for him, the tormenting feeling of betrayal was present all the time. 

            He knew she loved him, he could feel it emanating from her every time he came close to her. He needn't read her mind to know what she was feeling, and he wouldn't have dared anyway. He would never read the mind of a person he trusted and cared for like a friend, that's all he felt for Myra.  He had invariably created a bridge between them that never could be crossed for his betrayal of her trust was that deep. _It's for the good of __my country, he told himself, __for the good of my country.  _

            "Go," she whispered, "I need some time to think." Edward sighed, despair weighing him down. He stood up and reached into a pocket, pulling out a maroon velvet box. Pressing it into her hands, he whispered, "For being a good friend," and left.       


	6. Departures

Thanks to Gothamin and everyone else who has reviewed previously, I was somewhat doubtful about my writing talents (I used to swap tense a lot) and I still am a little bit but then again if you're not critical of your own work then you're not ready for any letdowns.  
  
Chapter 6- Departures.  
  
Myra sat on her bed for what seemed like ages, tears streaming, feeling the gentle weight of the velvet box. She had a million questions running through her head. Who was he, this Cierwan the Seer? What were these quests? Why did he lie to her? Why did she love him still, after all of this?  
  
Remembering the box, Myra opened it and her breath caught in her throat. In the box was a gold ring with one ruby in the middle and two smaller ones on each side. She took it out a slid it gently onto her and images swam through her mind's eye.  
  
Images of a peasant man on horse back above Kyrria, of three men in a room and a dark power issuing from the man talking, of a strange but kindly woman in the woods waiting for her and finally of Edward alone in the street out the front; calling her name silently with his mind.  
  
Myra woke with a stinging headache and clutched at her head, feeling cold metal. She looked down at her hands and saw the ring. She quickly pulled the ring off as her head began to swim with the images again. She replaced it back in the box and rushed to the window, hoping to see Edward in the street. It's Cierwan. She corrected herself, Edward doesn't exist. The street was empty and Myra moved away disappointed.  
  
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After Cierwan left, he headed straight for the court. He would not allow his feelings to get in the way of his quests. He darkened his hair and added a goatee to his appearance and then proceeded to make his way toward the palace. It didn't matter that Count Luxenham had seen him without a beard because the Count rarely visited the palace except when invited.  
  
He entered the palace and was walking through the front foyer when he passed a man he recognised as Lord Aganet and his sixth sense was overwhelmed by dark magic. Cierwan took deep breaths and slowly sent him mind out, lightly brushing over the other minds, to find the source and was disturbed but not surprised to find that it came from Lord Aganet.  
  
From what Cierwan had learnt from the minds of other fellow courtiers, Lord Aganet seemed to have a remarkable ability to turn up when least expected in places least expected and when ever his name was uttered, his head would turn in the direction of whom ever spoke it, even if it was a hundred metres away. He was powerful, Cierwan could sense that, but not so well trained that he could hide his magic. Darkness oozed out of every pore.  
  
He was the man Cierwan had been sent to kill for he threatened Ayortha with his schemes that Ayorthian spies had warned the King Benvolio (A/N: I can't remember the name of the Ayorthian king in Ella Enchanted and I've always loved the name Benvolio.) and who had in turn sent him, Cierwan, to kill Lord Aganet.  
  
Before Cierwan was to leave Ayortha, the High Eunuch Rìon, had issued him to find the Key, a powerful though undeveloped mage who was needed by the High Eunuch for reasons even Cierwan did not know.  
  
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Myra finished packing her bags and stared all around her, not sure if she should do it, not sure if she could make herself. She picked up the letter of the top of her carry bag and turned it around in her hands. She had written a letter to Cierwan explaining where she was going and why. There was a knock at the door that startled Myra out of her reverie. "Come in," she called, hoping so much that it was Cierwan, so she could say good-bye in person. A servant entered and said "Ma'am, your carriage awaits you." Myra sighed, disappointed again, "Thank-you, I will be down shortly."  
  
****************************  
  
Night had just started to fall, illuminating the streets with moonlight and a man was crossing to each post lighting the lamps when Cierwan entered the hotel and proceeded to the front desk to pay for Myra's room charges and for the next few nights. The old man shook his head, "Sorry, Your Lordship," he said, taking in Cierwan's finery, "the lass left this morning. Here, she left this for you." He pulled out a letter from the desk and whispered, "She was crying when she left."  
  
Cierwan ordered ale and sat down at a table in the bar, his heart heavy with misery and longing. Opening the letter, he read :  
  
Dear Cierwan, (His name was written shakily)  
  
I have decided it would be best of us if I go away for a few days, perhaps a week or two, till I find what I am looking for or more likely, till whoever finds me.  
  
This is hard for me, Cierwan, to leave. I was in love with you, or Edward, and now I don't know who you are. I need to go away, discover myself, discover my feelings.  
  
That ring you gave me, it is gorgeous, thank-you. Though, it certainly is strange. Whether it was the ring or no, as soon as I put it on I experienced strange dreams which I believe are all important in some way. If I see you again, we will discuss more of this, Cierwan the Seer.  
  
With love still, Myra. Cierwan crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into his doublet pocket. Tears welling up, he rushed outside and breathed in the cold, sharp night air. Myra! He called out with his mind, Myra!  
  
*****************************  
  
Myra held onto the side of the carriage as it jumped about on the rough, dirt road and looked out at the scenery. All she had been able to see for the past hour or so were trees with trunks so wide it would take three of hers to touch finger tips.  
  
The carriage rolled to a stop and the door was opened by the driver. "This is it ma'am," he said, a worried frown creasing up his face, "Are you sore this is where you want to go? There is nothing around here for miles." Myra pressed 4 KJ's in his hand and smiled. "I will be quite alright, good sir, I am expected." The man, not entirely satisfied, said "Well, if you're sure."  
  
Myra turned to look at the forest. This is where the Lady had been waiting for her, how she knew, well she can only guess the Ring had some how told her. She looked to her left and saw the cloud of dirt and dust still hanging in the air from the carriage's departure. Myra took several deep breaths and strode into the forest and she walked and walked and walked.  
  
It was growing dark and Myra was becoming tired. Wondering if Cierwan had found out that she had left, she sat down, clutching at her side, when a man with green skin and green features swung down from a tree and smiled at her, revealing green teeth. "You must be Myra," he said, "I am Yelon. Come, we have been waiting for you." He held out his hand and Myra took it with out the slightest hesitation. 


	7. The Key

Chapter 7 – The Key 

Cierwan opened the door to Mitri's house, the one place where he was still known as Edward Milne, and walked in to find Mitri sitting on the lounge with his face in the breasts of a girl whose make up was running down her face, there was no doubt as to her profession. She squealed with delight when Mitri's hands started to push away her many skirts. Edward cleared his throat, and Mitri looked up, embarrassed to find that this man, a business partner, had caught him with his pants down, literally. "Upstairs, wench," he hissed to the girl, who eyed Edward appreciatively and ran away. "That," he said, indicating the girl's backside, "is my new bride. Met her yesterday, married her today and today is our_ honeymoon," he finished, evidently unhappy with Cierwan's interruption. Cierwan grimaced, "Well, I am sorry to intrude but I came here to pack my things. I am leaving, going back to Frell, my mother has been taken ill and I must ride tonight to see her. So this is goodbye Mitri, and farewell." Cierwan held his hand out and Mitri shook it. _

After having gathered up his things, Cierwan moved into the palace quarters, specifically for visiting ambassadors, and regarded the room sceptically.  Thick and rich tapestries hung from the walls, dark maroon velvet covered the furniture and the roof was rather ostentatiously decorated with far too much gold-leaf than was necessary. Cierwan crinkled his nose; he had always preferred simplicity in his life. He walked over to his bag and pulled out a wooden bowl with intricate carvings and filled it with water. He sat down and crossed his legs, taking several deep breaths. Closing his eyes, Cierwan muttered an incantation under his breath, embodied with ancient power, and breathed onto the surface of the water. _Myra__, he whispered with his mind and instantly a picture of Myra was shown. She was standing with her back to him and was gazing into a forest, one hand shading her eyes when she dropped her arm, shook her hair, and walked into the forest. The picture changed and he saw Myra, elfin-clothed, her eyes shut, wind blowing about her, her arms outstretched. Cierwan's heart jumped with longing, and he realised how much he missed her. Then something caught his eye and brought him from out of his reverie. Myra was wearing the woven head band of a sorceress and it dawned on him. Myra was the one he had been searching for, she is the Key.  _

********************************  
  


Myra walked, hand in hand, with Yelon and he chatted animatedly. "You see this tree up ahead?" he asked, pointing to a large oak tree, the width of three fully grown men. She nodded. "Well, that tree, we call her Armaël. She is the eldest tree, the wisest, in this forest. We have held our ceremonies around her every year for the past 2000 years, for she carries the power of the Mother in her." 

"The Mother?" Myra asked, puzzled. Yelon smiled pityingly, "Ah Myra, you will soon learn all that you have missed out on but you must wait until you meet Blohein." 

"This Blohein, is she the Lady I have come to see?" 

"All in good time, Myra-Armaël, all in good time." Yelon sighed peacefully, "Hope is here." 


	8. Blohein and Armaël

Chapter 8 – Blohein and Armaël.

Myra stared at the woman standing in front of her. Her hair was the same colour as Myra's and she had the same emerald-green eyes. Her face was young looking but ancient all at once. "How do I know you?" Myra breathed, for it seemed that she had known this woman all her life. The lady smiled, "My name is Blohein," she said, "and I have been waiting for you for a long and lonesome time." 

"But why?" Myra asked. She didn't understand why anyone would be waiting for her, she who was practically an orphan. Blohein smiled once again, "You have never been an orphan, dear, or ever _nearly_ one. If you were, I certainly would have come for you." Blohein's dress rustled and whispered as she moved to sit on one of the many cushions dotting the floor. She chose a large gold one and indicated that Myra should sit too. 

"Who are you?" Myra asked as she sat down. Blohein reached out and took hold of Myra's hand. "I am your aunt, your mother's sister," she said tenderly. Myra blinked a couple of times and shook her head. "No, that can't be true. My mother was an only child and an orphan, too. How can you be her sister?" Myra noticed that Blohein's eyes were watering and she was nearly crying herself. Memories of her mother always upset her. She was there when her mother died and had felt that it was always her fault, a notion her father believed in too. She remembered vividly how she had raced across the street to get out of being dolled up and her mother had come after her, and was kicked in the head by a horse that had reared at her when she dashed into the road. Myra shook her head, trying to escape the memories and looked at Blohein, who was now steadily crying, sharing Myra's pain and grief. "It wasn't your fault, my dear," she whispered, taking Myra into her arms, "your mother, Armaël – yes named after the tree, would have welcomed it. She despised your father." Myra wiped her eyes, "How do you know?" she asked. "Your mother told me everything. She told me how she fell in love with him, how he had wooed her and swept her off her feet. She told me that not long after they were married, she discovered she was pregnant and when she gave birth, well, the baby was a still-born and that was the beginning of her troubles for the little baby had been a boy. A boy, your father had wanted terribly. So a year came and went and Armaël became pregnant again and when she gave birth to you, your father was angry and even more so when your mother never conceived again. He started to hit her and scream at her and everyday was a new hurt. She only stayed for you," she stopped and tucked a piece of Myra's hair behind her ear. "Why didn't you come and get me?" Myra whispered angrily. "I suffered and went through hell growing up. I have been raped and beaten till I was nearly dead! _Why didn't you come and save me?_"   
"Because Myra-Armaël, there were things you needed to do," Blohein replied.

"But you said, if I was an orphan you would have come for me!"

"If that was the case, your fate would have been different and your destiny would be here, in the Elf Grotto," Blohein reached up and took off her wooden circlet that looked like someone had woven the two wood pieces together. "This is the Sorceress' band. It will one day belong to you, but only until you have mastered your gift."

"What gift?" Myra asked puzzled. "The gift you have inherited from your grandmother. Your mother, unfortunately, never inherited it, but I did and I saw your fate and saw that it was clearly entwined in the magical arts and with a man, Cierwan whom you already know and who you will be greater than. This Cierwan the Seer, he is looking for you – the Key, and whether he knows it is you yet, I don't know but if he doesn't now, he soon will." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Cierwan is a good and kind man, it is no wonder that you love him," Myra started at this- she had gotten used to the idea that Blohein could read her mind but can she now read her emotions too? "But he will need to learn to love you too, if what he wants to achieve can happen."

"What do you mean?" Myra cried out desperately, not caring if she is repeating herself.

"He can not love yet. His heart is too sore after losing a woman he loved."

"How did she die?" Myra asked and Blohein sighed. "She didn't die. She ran away with an artist more like herself, you see, she was a poetess." Myra sat stunned. "But he said his mother was a poetess," 

"Oh no, dear, his lover was a poetess and she taught him to open up and to speak. Have you not noticed he talks an awful lot for an Ayorthian?"

"How do you know all of this?" Myra asked, suspiciously. Blohein laughed, "Because Cierwan and I are good friends. He came to learn from me once." Myra's eyes flickered to Blohein's circlet warily. "It has been a day of many discoveries, my love, perhaps you need to rest?" Myra nodded numbly and was shown the way to her room by Yelon and collapsed on the bed into a dreamless sleep.   
  


  
 


	9. Love at Last

The pen is mightier than the sword,   
And mightier than the literary award,  
Without the pen we'd be unable,  
To leave those notes on the kitchen table,  
Nothing lovelier ever penned,  
With three small crosses at the end;  
Made for no-one else to see;  
The literature of you and me.  
-Leunig.  
Just in case any of you guys were wondering Armaël is pronounced Arm-ayel and Blohein is just bloh- heen. Simple enough ok? And Gryffudd is Griffith.  
And many thanks to Gothamin and Singinstrawberry, your reviews made me soooooo happy. Mwa! 

Chapter 9 – Love at Last

Cierwan slept badly that night. He dreamt of Myra raising her arms in the air and on her command thunder would be heard, rain poured in torrents and lighting cracked. She had the weather under her control, no seer or sorceress had that power, and he shuddered at the thought of some one controlling that much. He rolled out of bed and moved to the window. The night was still, the only sign of life coming from the twinkling of the stars, and the moon's face lazily hanging up in the sky. _Myra__, __Myra__ how I long for you, Cierwan thought sadly,_ I was a fool to let you go. You are more than a friend, you always have been. Why didn't I see that from the start? Now I may have lost you forever, lost you to the woods. _He punched the wall forcefully. Why had he been so blind? _

He walked over to his bag and pulled out his bowl again and filled it with water. Muttering the same incantation, he blew onto the water and whispered _Myra. This time, the Mirror Pool did not show Myra; instead it showed his poetess living happily with Bertrand, her artist.  Cierwan closed his eyes, searching for the familiar surge of jealousy and anger. Nothing came and he took this as a sign that he should finally move on. The image swirled and he was finally shown Myra in the arms of a woman he recognised as Blohein. _Blohein, my friend, please look after her. I will be there soon.  
  
__

"Ahh, Sergio!" Count Luxenham bowed, "I have been looking for you! His Highness, the King Jerrold wishes for you to be presented to him with in the hour." Cierwan's eyes lighted up, "Really?" he asked. _How fortunate, and if I an correct in assuming, his Advisor Lord Aganet will be there. _"But of course! He has heard all about you!"    
"But there is not much to hear about," Cierwan muttered

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The next morning Blohein told her that her untrained power could be dangerous if she did not learn to control it and introduced her to her teachers. "Myra, these gentlemen are Ioan and Eamon," (A/N: Ioan is pronounced yo-an and Eamon Ay- min.) Ioan was a tall, dark-curly haired man with hazel eyes and Eamon was shorter with ginger hair and ice-blue eyes. "A pleasure to meet you, Myra-Armaël,' Ioan said, bowing, kissing her hand. Eamon cleared his throat. "And might I add such a fine sight to see so early in the morning?" he said, kissing her hand and looking up at her at the same time. Myra laughed and her eyes danced with amusement. "You are obviously the flirty one, am I correct?" she asked. Ioan shook his head, "My good friend here is a notorious flirt. I have been trying to discourage him; he has to give us other fellows a chance." Myra laughed again and Blohein cleared her throat, "Now that we have got introductions out of the way, we need to talk. Ioan is going to teach you how to clear you mind, meditation and connecting with your power and the ladies man here is going to teach you in the practical side of things. _ I will be teaching you about yourself, Myra-Armaël." She dismissed the young men and moved to a round, mahogany table and sat on one of the chairs. Myra walked over and traced a finger along the intricate leaf border, "This is a most beautiful table, Blohein." Blohein regarded the table, "Yes, it is quite beautiful. My husband made it for me but sadly, he died for what seems like an age ago."   
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up…" Blohein silenced her with a wave of her hand. "I was already thinking of him; this table brings up vivid memories." Myra frowned with worry and Blohein shook her head. "But today is about you, my dear, not me. So let me speak.  You come from a very rare race known as the 'Rohvarmsi'. The Rohvarmsi are impervious to all maladies but, unfortunately, we are not impervious to others who wish us harm. Nor are we saved from emotional pain, as thought your mother. She learnt the hard way and I only wished I had taught her better, but her time has come and gone and she shall be forever mourned by our race. But you, my dear," she stopped and took hold of Myra's hand, "you have the world at your feet. Darkness is abroad, Myra-Armaël, and you are the only one with enough power," Myra started to protest but Blohein dismissed her objections with a shake of her head, "Listen to me Myra! You are the only one with the power, it doesn't matter that you can't use it yet, and you _are _the one to destroy the Imrahid." Myra sat, shocked, her eyes wide. "What are the Imrahid?" she asked feebly.  Blohein sighed with infinite sadness and fear, "They were once a band of barding brothers travelling the globe together; healing the sick, granting wishes to those unhappy or poor, feeding the hungry. They were generally good Samaritans. Until one day, they were resting atop a hill when something happened to them, we know not, and since then their hearts have been corrupted and turned black and as hard as stone. Instead of healing and feeding the sick and lowly, they slaughtered and caused mayhem, searching for something that we don't know. Imrahid means 'brothers of dark' but that was 600 years ago and then, there was Gryffudd, a most powerful mage, and he banished them to a wasteland far from any civilisation but now it would appear they are back and have started their rampage again." She paused and smiled sadly, "That is why my dear Myra-Armaël, we must teach you to use your powers. You are our only hope."   
"Is that why Cierwan is looking for me too?" Myra asked. Everything seemed to make sense now, "Is it?" Blohein nodded slowly as if despair was weighing her down, "Yes," she whispered, "Oh Gods, I pray he can learn to love fast, Myra, you will need his love and he will need yours in the following years."  
  
_

*********************

Cierwan leapt on to his horse and thundered out of Kyrria. He had been presented to King Jerrold and lo and behold, Lord Aganet was there too. Lord Aganet had still not managed to hide his powers well enough so that even the lowest ranked mage could sense his darkness. But Cierwan, being one of the highest, could even access his mind and read his thoughts and what he had read there had shook him to the bone. This man was certainly powerful; powerful enough to call back the Imrahid and start their blood-fest once again.   
  
Cierwan made for the woods of Blohein's to warn them but he somehow already knew that they would already have been informed. His main concern, however, was for Myra. He did not want to see her hurt because she had been through enough already. He kicked his horse, Valoir, trying to make him gallop faster as panic tears glistened his eyes. He did not want to lose Myra. _I will not lose her again, I will not let her go.        _


	10. The Beginnings of Magic

Chapter 10 – The Beginnings of Magic

That night Cierwan slept in the shelter of a large tree's roots as the wind swept over the top of him. Shivering, he wrapped his cloak about him and moved in closer to the roots. It had taken him a week just to get this far. He had to go the long way for the Mirror Pool has shown him that spies of the Imrahid were watching the main routes for any suspicious movement. He was close to falling asleep when a hand reached out and touched his shoulder. Alert, he jumped up, reaching for his dagger, but stopped when he saw who it was. "Myra?" he asked to the ghost-like apparition before him. Myra laughed and held out her hand, "Come," she said, "We have not far to go."  He took her hand and walked with her some further 5 kilometres when she let go of his hand. "You must make your own way to the Rohvarmsi settlement. I can not come with you because if my other self comes to close to my physical self, the damage would be irreversible," she smiled, "and we wouldn't want that now would we?" Her laugh seemed to light up the whole night and Cierwan wanted to make the moment last forever. Myra sobered up, "See you soon." Cierwan shook his head as Myra disappeared into thin air. He was used to turning into nothing himself, not seeing other people doing it. He rubbed his face to rid it of the sleep threatening to overtake him and hurried off in the direction of the Rohvarmsi, his heart fluttering at the thought of actually seeing Myra and _holding her.  _

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Myra opened her eyes and looked up at Blohein. "It is done," she said, "he is on his way." Blohein clapped her hands and planted a kiss of Myra's cheek. "Well done, my child! Well done!" Eamon came up to her and pulled her up from her sitting position and danced with Myra around the room. "This girl is a prodigy!" he yelled to no-one in particular. "This girl is a bloody prodigy!" Myra laughed and Eamon took her into a dip. "Congratulations," he whispered and kissed her lips. Myra blushed and stood up and patted her dress down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ioan give Eamon a disapproving look and Eamon shrugging his shoulders in return. Blohein ignoring what just happened came and took Myra's arm. "He is coming for you, Myra-Armaël. Only for you," she whispered to her and Myra's heart danced at the thought of seeing Cierwan again but hurt clouded the euphoria over, "Learn to forgive, Myra, you need to forgive him. He didn't want to lie to you." Myra sighed, "I know, Blohein, but I just can't help it.

Sometimes, I wish I could see him that very moment but then other times, I wish I would never have to see him again," she said faintly, so she could barely be heard over Eamon's "prodigy" song, "I have been hurt too much, Blohein, to let things just roll by the way they are." Blohein leaned over and kissed Myra's cheek. "Things will be alright in the end, Myra. Trust in fate." And with that Blohein moved away to silence Eamon and Ioan whom had joined in on the chorus of "The girl is a prodigy, the girl is a bloody prodigy." 


	11. Misconceptions

A/N: Sorry but I forgot to mention that Blohein is the Rohvarmsi queen and Myra being her only relative is heiress to the throne. D'accord? And it's my two week holiday so I will be writing a hell of a lot! 

Chapter 11 – Misconceptions. 

It took Cierwan another 2 hours to reach the Rohvarmsi and in that time Myra had put on her white, elf-made dress – a present from Blohein – and had woven intricate wire and glass leaf ornaments through her hair; her overall appearance extraordinarily beautiful and unearthly.  She walked into the main hall and curtsied to Blohein, who sat on her throne and offered her hand to Eamon and Ioan. "Well, Miss Myra, you have well adapted to the ways of court," Ioan remarked. Myra inclined her head, "One has to be knowledgeable in such trifles as court flattery, if one wants to move ahead in this world," she stated aloofly. Ioan and Eamon laughed and Myra moved off to greet other court officials when Cierwan entered the hall looking haggard and travel worn. Myra, unsure of what to do, walked back over to Eamon and Ioan. "What do I do?" she hissed to Eamon. "Nothing just yet, act natural." She watched as Cierwan hobbled to the dais and bowed to Blohein who in return inclined her head. 

He turned around and searched the crowd and when he saw Myra walked slowly toward her. "Master Seer," Myra said nervously and curtsied. "Come now Myra, there is no need for that." She looked up and saw the love he had for her in his eyes, "I… I must …um… " she stuttered, tears threatening to spill, and ran out of the hall. 

Leaning against a tree, Myra took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. _Why did I run out like a fool? She asked herself. __Why? "Myra?" a voice called. She turned to find Eamon standing behind her. "Myra, my dear, what's wrong?" Myra sobbed and Eamon took her into his arms. "Hey? Tell me what's wrong."   
 "Oh Eamon!" she cried, "I love him so much; I just don't want to be hurt. I'm so scared." Eamon hugged her tighter. "Shhhh, Myra dear, it will be alright. I promise," he whispered. Myra was about to say something else when a man's figure blocked their light. "Sorry to intrude," Cierwan muttered and walked past them.  Myra looked absolutely desolate and ran after him. "Cierwan," she yelled, "please wait!" _

"Myra," Cierwan said softly, after they had been walking side by side each other in silence for sometime, "I am happy for you and Eamon. It couldn't have happened to a nicer man." Myra looked slightly taken aback and stopped for a pause at a large tree. "You know, this tree is called Armaël?" she laughed a little and leaned against the mother-tree, "I guess you would. Blohein told me that you came to learn from her once, so you probably learnt of the significance of Armaël. But I wonder do you know my mother was called Armaël too?" Cierwan shook his head, "My mother, Blohein tells me, thought she was protected against heart ache but she wasn't. I've always known that I wasn't safe from such pain, it would seem to me that my whole life has been nothing but pain," she paused and closed her eyes, "Cierwan, I don't love Eamon and we certainly aren't lovers, though he is an incredible tease, it's so hard sometimes to fight the temptation!" she laughed at her own joke and shook her head to sober herself up. "Cierwan, it's you that I love, it always has been. Can you not sense that?" she asked him, her whole world riding on his response. Cierwan looked up, raw longing aflame in his eyes, "I can't sense you anymore, Myra, you have learnt a lot and you have hid your feelings."   
"And a good thing, too!" she laughed, "otherwise the whole world would feel what I feel!" Cierwan smiled wanly and gathered her hands in his, "Myra, I love you too," he said simply and meaningfully. Myra sighed contently and Cierwan pulled her into his embrace. "Don't ever leave me," he whispered into her hair. "I won't." 

Myra led him by the hand back to her apartments and sat him down. "Would you like a drink?" she asked nervously. "Myra," Cierwan said gently, standing up and taking the glass out of her hand and placing it on the table. Myra stared at the cup and Cierwan tilted her head up, "Relax," he whispered, and kissed her on the mouth. Myra lifted her arms up and wound them about his neck and kissed him in reply. Cierwan lifted his hand and tangled his fingers in her hair then Myra pulled away and looked at Cierwan, "I want to," she said simply and Cierwan raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?" he asked. Myra nodded in reply and led him to her chambers where she took off her dress. Cierwan walked over to her and picked her up gently and laid her on the bed, kissing her face and neck. "I love you," he whispered as he cupped a breast and kissed it gently and whispered many more endearments into her skin. They made love, unhurried, as if time had stopped and savoured each caress and touch, each moan and I love you and it seemed that that very night, the stars danced high in the sky.   (A/N: Hmmm, how was that? I think that sated _my_ appetite for romance.)

*****************************

The Imrahid gathered around their floating orb and each extended a bony finger to the white sphere. Chanting a dark incantation, their arms raised as the orb flew higher up in the air, transmitting power to the four black-cloaked spectres until theirs eyes shone with deadly malice and venom. With out a single word, each brother left in the direction of their cardinal points- north, south, east and west; no-one was safe from the Imrahid. 

Lord Aganet sat in his chamber, smoking Mena weed and leaned in toward his own magical orb as the Imrahid parted and went their own ways. "Tis done and what's done is done. Naught can undo such powerful magick," he whispered to himself, reciting a line from an ancient magical text. 

*******************************  
  



	12. Imrahid

In the North, rain poured down, saturating everything and everyone who happened to be out, lightning lit up the dark sky creating monstrous shadows on the land and thunder cracked. Winds blew into every nook and cranny and whispered of bad omens as they blew open the shutters, settling a deep chill into the bones of the occupants that not even the warm summer's day light could penetrate. A dense and ominous fog hung in the air and it was on one of these many nights, that a solitary, dark figure entered the northern township of Namia and walked towards the only tavern, The Broken Pew. A bony hand reached out and rapped on the door which swung open a few moments later by a round and portly man. The figure's eyes shone an unearthly yellow and the inn keeper's own eyes became a dull and lifeless. The two men stood like that for what seemed an age, looking into each other's eyes, until the heavily-cloaked form pressed a gold coin into the keeper's hand and walked away, disappearing into the fog as foreboding as the figure itself. The next morning, the inn keeper's daughter found her father standing in the door way seemingly staring across the road, departed from the world of the living, still clutching the gold coin.       

  
In the West, the earth shook, turning houses to rubble and amidst the screams of the villagers caught up in the hysteria, ranting and raving of God's vengeance when a different, lone figure entered the settlement and walked calmly by the screaming townsfolk. The figure's eyes glowed with disgust and loathing and when a young boy, the age of 4, ran up to him begging for help, the spectre pushed him away and walked on by. He came to a woman with blood running down her face and knelt beside her. "Please," she whispered, "Please, save my daughter. She's in that house over there," she pointed to a caved-in Tudor-style home, "Please," she begged looking up at the person beside her. Her eyes dimmed and her face was drained of all colour. The Spectre moved on.

To the South, a young woman could be seen running through a dense and gloomy forest, looking over her shoulder fearfully and crying. Her feet pounding at the forest floor, bleeding from the sticks and stones that dotted the ground and her long, blonde hair was matted with blood from a branch that had cut her forehead. Behind her, a black-cloaked form glided swiftly along, following her. The woman broke free of the forest, coming to still and grey lake that reflected the equally grey and dismal sky. Looking up, she saw a brown eagle circling the sky, screeching high pitched. "Oh mercy!" the woman screamed, sensing her impending doom but she continued running nevertheless. She ran along the lake's edge and looked back to see the figure gaining upon her. With a last desperate attempt, she ran into the lake, swimming and pounding at the water with her last dregs of energy, but the spectre had her in his grasp and she screamed, trying to cover up her eyes. As the figure pried her fingers away, she went under, breathing in the water, deliberately drowning herself. She had far too much knowledge to let the Imrahid know and use. 


End file.
